The Lens Through Which We Look
by latetothpartyhp
Summary: Set immediately after "Checkmate". Chlollie through Clark's eyes.


_Imperfect understanding is the human condition_  
- George Soros

"My son, it was not without reservation that I sent you to this planet. I wanted you to live, and that through you, Krypton might live as well, but there are many dangers to you here. Humanity has much to offer, but they have much more to learn. If you are to help them, you must carefully balance your compassion with the necessity of justice. You must be equanimous in your dealings, free from prejudice or favoritism. To do otherwise will inspire hatred and rebellion."

"You're asking me to turn my back on my home, on my family. Everyone I care about."

"Kal-El. It is only when you love no one that you are able to love everyone. Your duty is to all of humanity, not just the few. It will be lonely and difficult, but I will help you."

* * *

He remembers.

He knows what has happened.

It's the why that requires thought. It is like viewing the past through the lenses of his old corrective lenses: blurry and tiring. To understand requires constant compensation for their refraction, and he is not always successful. His mental vision is not always on a par with his physical.

Like tonight. He doesn't know why the word "abandon" had come out of his mouth. His companion hadn't suggested it, nor had it happened. The girl, Chloe, had been safe in the Watchtower when he left. That was her place, where she did her work; it had been silly for her to leave it. It had endangered their mission, and him. It was something he should have put a stop to, but on impulse, he apologized instead.

So he considered, squinting his mind at his reaction. That he had succumbed to that whim disturbed him at first, but upon reflection he decided that his instinct had been sound. Images of her, both indistinct and nearly clear coalesce in his mind, and he remembers.... She was a friend. He remembers that, and if her continued support of his work required an acknowledgment of that, then he was confident he had acted correctly.

He was more disturbed by her reaction, which had been ungracious to say the least. His memories told him that was an anomaly. She had distanced herself from him in the past, from suspicion or anger, but had always forgiven him when the urgency of the mission re-asserted itself. And since she had made every indication she was willing to continue working with him now, it seemed he had achieved his objective.

But he remembers.

He remembers something more.

* * *

He waits for her in the tower, but as she approaches he realizes she is not alone. The man, Oliver Queen, is with her, and she is laughing. "Well if Mia's already called red then I get yellow! With black stripes down the sides. I could be very _Kill Bill_ and go after people on a Kawaski. They could call me 'Stinger'."

"'The Stinger?'"

"Yeah, like a bee -- fast and sharp."

The man makes a face. "I don't know. Think you might have a couple of trademark violations going on in that scenario."

Their hands are joined and the girl is swinging them back and forth between them. She laughs again. "So we pay a licensing fee."

"Or we could control costs by coming up with something a little more original. Unique. Like you."

The girl's face softens and turns a little pink. It is a human characteristic for veins and capillaries in the face to expand when embarrassed, allowing a greater influx of blood to that area. They have reached the door to the building, and she stops and turns to the man beside her. The direction of her eyes follows an interesting pattern: first at his, then to the side, then back at his. Lack of eye contact can mean different things in different cultures; in this society it frequently signals that one is ashamed or angry or has something to hide. The back-and-forth aspect must add another dimension to interpretation however, because instead of confronting her for her obfuscation, the man leans down and kisses her.

* * *

He remembers. A memory from years ago, from his childhood. He squints and he sees. Her eyes darting around, settling first on him and then away. Her voice was different, though. Fast and nervous and telling him that if he leaves her she will never speak to him again. He remembers ... confusion, and catching her arm, and her eyes, big and pleading. He remembers... he remembers it was a little dizzying thinking about how much she liked him. His eyes widen with recollection. He remembers. He didn't know what kind of guy Chloe would like, but he'd guessed it would be someone like her: someone from the city, sarcastic and smart, who knew about books and bands no one else had ever heard of. He didn't think it would be him. She'd pretty much even said that in the loft, right after she kissed him: "Now we can be friends." Meaning: "That was it, farm boy."

He guessed that was the difference saving a girl's life made. Now she thought he was a hero and she was staring at him the way his mom looks at his dad sometimes, and she was so little and adorable. He couldn't help himself; he leaned down and kissed her.

The image suddenly flickers and bends. Its edges twist and fade to gray like a photograph in a fire. He reaches out to grab it, catches the melting center.

He remembers she smiled. At him.

* * *

When they finish they are quiet but for their breathing, which is faster than it was. After a few seconds she smiles again and says, "Really? 'Cuz I was thinking maybe something mythic, like a one-shouldered white tunic. I could be 'The Huntress'." She waves her wallet in front of the sensor box and a buzzer sounds.

The man groans as he reaches for the door. "Chloe..."

Her brows go up. "You think I can't pull it off?"

The man looks wide-eyed for a moment. His mouth is open to speak, but he says nothing. He looks cornered, like a liar presented with conflicting evidence. Instead of admitting the truth, though, he deflects, a human habit used to avoid exposure: "Sure - well, white's fine for summer, but we're gonna have to find you something else for after Labor Day."

"And that was the smoothest way to wiggle out of answering that I have ever heard. Remind me not to ask Oliver Queen any more no-win questions." She punches the call button on the wall between the elevators.

Now it was he who was looking away from her and back again. She does not kiss him, though. She merely stands there, waiting patiently. He takes her by the shoulders and turns her to face him; he has decided, it appears, to come clean. "It's not that I don't think you can't do it," he says. "It's that I meant what I said earlier: you scared the life out of me. I don't know if I can do that night after night, wondering where you are, hoping you're ok."

"You think it's easy for me? I have to keep a brown paper bag handy for when your blips fall off my radar. If I have another night like I did last night I don't think I'll be able to keep myself from hacking your email again."

"After today I couldn't blame you. I'd be doing the same thing."

The bell rings and the elevator door opens, but they remain stationary. After a few more silent seconds in which they look at each other, she raises her brows again. This time she is also smiling; it is the way she signals she is about to tease him again. "I don't think you have an arrow that could pull that trick off," she says.

"Oh, I have an arrow for every trick," he answers and catches the door.

* * *

He remembers. The hotel, the elevator, the search -- he remembers their work together. It is a memory from the time before he had accepted who he was, but even then it was his mission to bring justice to humanity. He remembers that. It has always been his mission.

The earring. They knew it must on the elevator, or in the near-by vicinity. It had been Chloe's suggestion to re-enact the events from the security footage, and he had gone along with it because that is what he did. It had been a useless exercise; using his x-ray vision to begin with would have been much more efficient. He had not always thought to use his powers before his training, though. He had not yet learned to filter out distractions. She had been a distraction, catching him off guard, and --

How would she do that? he wonders. It was not something she did, not something he remembers her doing. He concentrates ... she had been angry with him, but she had forgiven him. As always, but at that time it had been... tenuous? Was that right? It must have been. He had not been expecting her to come so close, and in one of those shirts his mother always clicked her tongue at after the girl had gone. He hadn't been expecting her hips to suddenly bounce against his, or the door to suddenly slide open when it had, or especially to suddenly have to need to leap behind her because there were children there who didn't need to see him like that.

Nor had he expected her to suddenly stroll out into the hall and yell: "We weren't doing anything!"

Memory skitters across his brain like a fly, persistent and elusive. He shakes his head abruptly.

Of course they had been. They had been working.

That is what they did.

* * *

The man pulls his mouth from hers and asks, "So that's a 'no' on the emergency stop suggestion?"

She laughs for the eleventh time that night since he had been observing them. "We're here, we have twenty feet to the door, and we have plenty of horizontal surfaces whose weight capacity and shock absorption have yet to be crash-tested."

The elevator door opens and they are walking toward the door slowly, unaware of any presence, or the possibility of any presence, besides their own. It is as if, despite their declarations of worry, neither of them had been overcome and taken hostage in the last 48 hours. "Sounds like a pitch for promotion to head of Queen Industries Quality Control department."

She pauses before answering. "You think Queen Industries is ready for that kind of restructuring?" She holds her palm up to a section of the wall, waiting for it to recognize her vein pattern. After a moment the door clicks open. "You'd have to implement a lot of new procedures."

"We at Queen Industries have a firm commitment to product safety and testing. And as company president I would like to emphasize that I'm not afraid to get in there and show them -- Clark!"

Her face spins away from Oliver's and on to his. Her eyes are wide and her skin has turned pink again. "Clark!" she repeats. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been waiting for you."

"That's nice," Oliver says. "You should've let us know you were coming. We'd've straightened up the place."

She rolls her eyes at the other man, indicating her lack of amusement, and turns back to him with a smiling frown. "Or gotten here a whole lot sooner. Is something wrong?"

He sighs. It had been a miscalculation to think that Chloe would have been alone. His memories suggested she would be. She had had a relationship, but she had kept that separate from their work -- as he had always tried to. It was wiser. Safer. For everyone, in every way. He had tried to warn Oliver earlier. Chloe's greatest strength is her commitment. She would always put the mission first.

"I thought we should debrief," he answers. "The last two days have been intense. When Chloe and I spoke earlier, I sensed it might be a good idea for us to touch base. Review events and see if we can find room for improvement."

They both wear faces of confusion: Oliver's incredulous, Chloe's curious. "That's not a bad idea," she says. He feels himself relax a little. He's glad he didn't miscalculate entirely.

"It's not?" Oliver asks.

"Yeah, I think it might be helpful. It might get us thinking a little more strategically, so we're a little more _Magnificent Seven_ and a lot less _Three Amigos_."

"Three amigos? Please tell me you're just making that one up."

"You've never seen _Three Amigos_? It's got Chevy Chase. I thought you liked him."

"There's kinda a continuum when it comes to liking Chevy Chase. Is it on the _Fletch_/_Caddyshack_ side of things or more on the _Vegas Vacation_ end?"

"I thought we could start by going over the timeline of events," he interrupts.

Their attention snaps back to him again. "It really is a great idea Clark," she says. "But it's also really late. I think something like this would be much more productive during the day, when we're all fresh. And John should really be here for it."

"I think John's going to be working undercover for the next few days," he answers. He doesn't want to burden her with his suspicions.

"Ok. Well, why don't the three of us meet tomorrow, around seven? We can order from that new sushi place around the corner, and in the meantime I can prep some data -- names, faces, places."

Oliver's shoulders relax, and he smiles. "Sounds good to me. Hey -- can you find out if they have those salmon skin rolls?"

It is human to demonstrate agreement when one gets what one wants. He himself is not human. He is Kryptonian, and he will not base his reactions on personal convenience. She, on the other hand, is not... No. She had to know they have a job to finish.

"I don't think we can afford to put this off," he says. "The longer we do, the less reliable your memories will be."

Her eyes become a little brighter. "Ok. While we're on that subject, let me add that Oliver and I are both very tired and are probably not going to be remembering anything in an hour or two except that we forgot to wear clothes to our oral exams." Oliver snorts a laugh. "You need to let us get some sleep."

He has been watching them. He knows they don't intend to sleep. It's an excuse to get rid of him, to politely pretend that they don't intend to do is run upstairs and fuck. It's completely unacceptable, and she of all people should know it. It's not like with Jimmy, or Lois: she knows what's at stake. They both do. He opens his mouth to speak, but she interrupts him before he can begin.

"Goodnight Clark. We'll see you tomorrow." She catches Oliver's hand, and leads him up the staircase. He could stop them, but that would create a different set of problems, with new calculations to be made. Instead he moves to the door, limbs heavy.

It appears he had had the wrong sum after all.

* * *

He remembers. The softness of her lips crashing into his, the shock of it, the want and the fear and the strength flowing from her into him. It darts and buzzes around the edge of his mind, but if he closes his eyes and holds his breath he can feel it edging back into his center.

_"I don't know if I'm ever gonna see you again."_

He remembers the tremor in her voice. She knew what they faced. In that moment she'd understood, and he'd come to understand, too: tomorrow may never come, but she was here and he was here and it was now. The two of them existed. And their mission. Everything else was bullshit.

The phone rang. Zod's words pronounced with Lex's voice came over it. _"I heard you were looking for me."_

Yes. And he could not stop until Zod was. She had known that, and he had known she was ... what was she?

The strain and the sound are killing him, but he thought he remembered ... sharing something. He had thought they shared something, the two of them. The desire for truth and justice, to protect the innocent and preserve humanity. Didn't they? He doesn't know. The buzzing quiets. _"Clark, I'd like you to meet Jimmy Olsen." "James Olsen."_ Who? She wears a happy face, and he realizes her destiny is not his destiny. Her life would have room for something else, something outside the inexorable call of duty. The buzzing is gone.

He remembers how happy he was for her. How he'd envied her good luck.

* * *

They do sleep, after an hour or two. She had not lied about that. She was lying on her belly, the sheet wrapped under her bare shoulders and he remembers... his mind vibrates with the effort and still the image grows no clearer. It is pointless and yet he can't stop trying. Beyond the fog and the droning he knows there is something he has forgotten.

He knows he cannot continue this way. It is foolish and wasteful; he should be monitoring the city, listening to the night. He does not need her help to do that; that he pretends to is pleasant, but it too must stop. Like the coupling of the two of them below, it serves no greater purpose, and instead detracts from other priorities. He should speak to Oliver more explicitly, perhaps after their meeting tomorrow. His mission is not Oliver's, but he cannot allow the other man to bias her. Impartiality was crucial.

He remembers that.


End file.
